Charity's Burden Read online

  “But thee and I can greet the guests together at the door,” I continued. “Would that make thee happy? It’s a very special job.”

  She sat up straight. “I’ll help thee, Auntie Rose. I’m a very good greeter. John Whittier said so himself. ”

  I tried not to smile. “I know he did.” I spied Faith and Annie also working hard to keep from laughing, but it was true. Last year when I’d been assigned the job of welcomer in the hall outside the worship room, Betsy had stood with me, and John had said exactly that to her. “Now go play in the sitting room until dinner, will thee?”

  “Thee can always ask for my help,” Betsy said. “I’m getting very big now that I’m nine.” Off she ran.

  “Thank thee, Rose,” Faith said. “She’s been asking nearly every hour if she can be my flower girl.”

  “We could have had her give thee a nosegay to carry if it weren’t winter,” I replied.

  Faith rose and fixed us each a cup of tea.

  Annie cocked her head. “Rose, they’re talking about you all the way down in Boston.” She kept her voice low.

  “They are?” I asked.

  “Indeed. The news of the woman with the perforated uterus was quite the topic of conversation among the midwives this week.”

  I scratched my head. “I didn’t realize Charity’s death had made the newspapers.”

  “It must have.”

  “And how was my name associated with the news?”

  “Simply that you were the woman’s midwife. Except it wasn’t that simple, really. Some whispered you had attempted to perform the abortion yourself.”

  I gasped at the same time as Faith set the hot mugs on the table. “I never would! Who said that?”

  “I don’t know. It was whispers in the corner, like. But our teacher, who knows you well, defended you. She asserted to everyone, as you just did, that you would never perform a mechanical abortion, and that none of us ever should, either.”

  “Did the gathering believe her?” Faith asked. “About Rose, I mean?”

  “It helped her case, certainly,” Annie replied.

  This was not the first time my practice had been imperiled by gossip. What if those new midwives spread the word that I’d expanded my practice to include abortions, and that I was dangerously unskilled? Besides losing my existing customers, I might also be arrested for violating the Comstock laws. I could only pray the teacher’s words had convinced the whisperers.

  thirty-four

  Lucy Majowski leaned both forearms on the dresser in her bedroom, moaning her way through a contraction. Her flannel nightgown was faded, but mended and clean.

  “Thee is doing very well, Lucy.” I used my most soothing voice and rubbed the small of her back.

  Henryk had come to fetch me two hours ago at nine o’clock, just as I was about to go to bed. Worry carved fresh lines in his face as he said his wife was having regular pains and wanted me to come. I sent him along back home, saying I would follow right away. The night air was cold and smelled of snow, but I hurried out and harnessed Peaches to my buggy. I didn’t want to make Henryk leave home after the birth was accomplished, whenever that ended up being.

  Now the gas light in the upstairs farmhouse bedroom was a steady beacon. Henryk kept the big kitchen stove going down below, and a vent in the floor let the warm air rise into the bedchamber. Lucy’s pain finished and she plopped back on the bed. I noted the time on the watch I pinned to my bosom.

  “How much more of this will I have, Rose?” she asked in plaintive tone.

  I smiled gently. “You’ll be in labor until your baby is born. I can’t predict exactly how long it will take, because every woman is different and so is every newborn. When I arrived thee was about six fingers dilated, and thy cervix must open to ten before thy baby’s head enters the birth canal. But remember, thy body is made for this work. Women have been birthing babies for all of time. The child will come out, fear not.”

  Lucy closed her eyes. Good. She needed to rest while she could. I surveyed the room. Lucy had followed all my recommendations and the space was nicely prepared for the delivery. A towel was spread on a low chest of drawers, and a stack of clean folded cloths sat atop it next to two empty basins. When Lucy got closer to pushing the baby out, I would ask Henryk to bring up recently boiled water. The dresser she’d been leaning on had a drawer full of baby blankets and tiny clothes, and another held a sufficient number of diapers. This couple was ready to be parents.

  Lucy eased down onto her side. When another pain set in, I checked my watch. Ninety seconds since the last one. Things were progressing. When I’d arrived the contractions were two minutes apart. I moved to her head.

  “Sit up more, Lucy. I’ll put pillows behind thee.”

  She obliged, but halfway through the contraction she slid her legs onto the floor and stood. “It hurts when I lie down,” she muttered.

  “It’s good to stand. Gravity will help the baby come down. Put thy arm around my shoulder.”

  Her weight was heavy, but I was tall and strong. I could hold her. When the pain finished, she removed her hand and placed both on the back of her hips in the classic late-pregnancy stance. She stood swaying, rocking from side to side and rolling her hips in a figure eight. I’d read about the ancient art of belly dancing, and that it was originally a dance for pregnant women to strengthen their abdominal muscles. Once in labor the dance movements helped relieve their pains. Lucy seemed to have an intuition that these kinds of movements would help her.

  “Rose, did I ever tell you about when I visited that quack doctor Buckham last year?”

  My ears perked at that. “No, although Henryk mentioned it yesterday. Why does thee say this man is a quack?”

  “I saw his advertisement in the newspaper. Henryk and me, we wanted to have a baby right away. I thought Dr. Buckham’s ad said he helped women. But when I talked with him, it was clear he wanted to help me not have babies, or to rid myself of one if I was with child.” A groan escaped her lips. “Here’s another pain.” Her rotating movements slowed but she kept her body moving in the same way.

  I wiped the moisture off her brow when the pain was through.

  “I stood up and left that instant.” Lucy picked up where she had left off. “I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself.”

  “Family spacing isn’t a bad thing, but it was clearly not what thee wanted. Now I’d like thee to lie down. After the next contraction I’ll check thy progress.

  I led her to the bed and had her sit again with pillows boosting her up. “There,” I said. “Is thee comfortable?”

  “As comfortable as a person can get with a blooming watermelon trying to get out of her bottom.”

  I laughed. “Tell me, what did Buckham want to give thee to prevent pregnancy?”

  “Some herbs, I don’t remember which. But Rose, he also hinted at a way to remove a pregnancy if the herbs alone didn’t work.”

  As I suspected.

  “That’s when I walked out,” Lucy continued. “He’s a babykiller and I didn’t want any part of it.” She pushed her hair back off a brow glistening with sweat. “And I’m fairly certain I saw Delia leaving when I arrived. Remember, the girl you asked about? I do hope she isn’t getting herself into trouble.” She let out a low moan. “Here’s another one.”

  I waited through her next contraction. So Delia had visited Buckham last year. Why? If she needed contraceptives, she could simply ask her own mother. Unless she didn’t want her mother knowing that she, an unmarried woman, was being intimate with a man. Or perhaps she’d asked Buckham to terminate a pregnancy.

  “Remember,” I told Lucy when the contraction was over. “Breathe into my hand if this is uncomfortable.” I slid two fingers into her passage and felt the soft, opening cervix, but it wasn’t much more open or thinned out than when I’d arrived. I removed my hand and wiped it
on a cloth.

  “How am I doing?” she asked, eyes widening as yet another pain set in.

  “Not quite ready, but things are moving along.” They weren’t moving along very fast, but she didn’t need discouraging news like that. First labors were often long affairs. A primigravida woman’s body had never done birthing work before. The connective tissues, while loosened by the processes of pregnancy, were still as yet unstretched. I had palpated the baby when I first arrived and it was head down as well as face down, in the optimal position for birth. Lucy and Henryk’s baby would be born before dawn, I expected. But how long before I wouldn’t dare to predict.

  Meanwhile, she’d possibly given me another piece in the Charity death puzzle. It sounded very much like Wallace Buckham performed mechanical abortions. But had he done Charity’s?

  thirty-five

  Sure enough, the baby delayed his entrance until the small quiet hours, as so many do, not emerging until after four o’clock in the morning. Lucy was tired but summoned enough energy to push her newborn out into the world. It wasn’t without a good deal of work on her part, though.

  When her cervix was finally fully open and she felt the urge to bear down, she threw off her nightgown and maneuvered herself onto a hands and knees position on the bed. I piled pillows high under her head so that between contractions she could rest her head and muster energy for the next wave.

  The pains came fast and furious, though, allowing her almost no respite. During the contractions she alternated between mighty grunts, weeping, and uttering words I was pretty sure were curses in Polish. I didn’t care. Whatever got her through this short but intense stage was fine with me. Women dug deep into their resources of strength at this last stage of labor, becoming nearly primitive beings. I’d seen it many times and marveled at our gender’s ability to endure the most difficult physical test humans go through.

  “Thee is doing so well,” I encouraged when she wept. “Thee is strong and the baby will be here soon.”

  I laid a basin of warm water and a bowl of oil on the foot of the bed, and knelt behind her. After I spied the top of the baby’s head, I pressed a warm folded cloth to her opening. When it cooled, I dipped two fingers in the oil and slid them just under the rim of skin and over the head to lubricate the baby’s passage. Alternating these two bits of assistance helped ease out the head without the mother tearing delicate membranes.

  The baby’s head was nearly born. “Give me all thy effort with the next pain, Lucy.”

  “I can’t,” she wailed.

  “Of course thee can.”

  And she did, exerting her entire torso down into her pelvis with a great growl of effort. As soon as the head was out, the baby opened its eyes, gazing at its new world, and made sucking sounds. With Lucy’s next push, out slithered the tiny body, a boy. He gave a hearty cry of complaint right away. I grabbed a clean cloth and wiped his eyes and nose clear.

  I sniffed away the emotion that always overcame me at this miraculous moment and swallowed. “Thee has a healthy baby boy, Lucy. Carefully now, roll over to thy right and lift thy left leg.” I handed her the baby, still attached by the tough silvery cord. This stage was always easier with a helper, but I hadn’t wanted to disturb Annie last night after her long week in Boston.

  Lucy, instantly smiling, received her newborn son with both hands and leaned back into the pillows. I covered him with a soft baby blanket and rubbed his back for a moment, then stepped back.

  “It’s so sweet to meet you, little boy.” She touched her son’s cheek with a finger. His dark eyes gazed into hers, as they would for years to come.

  thirty-six

  I stayed until I was sure the newborn was nursing well and that his mother’s uterus was firming up, returning to a non-pregnant state. I’d told Lucy I would be back the next morning to check on her and the baby. That and attending births was the only work I did on First Day, God’s day of rest. I figured He created both the mother and baby, and I was doing God’s work to make sure they both were safe and well.

  Henryk offered me milky coffee, bread and butter, and a warm section of Polish sausage, which I gratefully sat and consumed.

  “I wanted a boy, but I didn’t dare say so,” Henryk said from across the table in the farm kitchen. Tears dampened his eyes. “A son. Henry. Lucy insisted on naming him for me. Now, you’re sure my Lucy is well?”

  “Yes, have no fear, Henryk.” I swallowed the last of the coffee. “It took a while, but both she and the babe are as healthy as they come. Do be sure she drinks plentiful clean water, milk, and eats goodly portions of meat and vegetables for the next month or two to build up her strength.” I dusted off my mouth and stood to don my cloak, hat, and gloves. “How’s the other baby boy, the foal?”

  “Thriving, thanks be to God. And to you, Rose. Lucy named the colt Ambrose, after you.” He pressed money into my hand. “Here is thy payment. I wish I had enough to give you ten times the amount.”

  I laughed. “There’s no need for that. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on Lucy and the newborn.”

  Now, an hour after sunrise, I clucked to Peaches. I had fresh snow to traverse as I left the Majowski farm. The snowstorm had moved on, and sun glittered in the three inches of fresh white crystals all around. I glanced down toward Delia and Savoire’s home and shook my head. I had no reason to call on them, and it was too early, anyway.

  I yawned, but was determined to locate a telephone cabinet before I returned home. I thought the hotels would surely keep records on who had paid money to make a call. And if my threatening message yesterday had been made in public, I wanted to know who spoke those words.

  I headed up Main Street and out Friend Street, past the Meetinghouse, to the turn that led up Whittier Hill. David had taken me to dine last summer at a luxurious hotel that sat atop the hill. It was the kind of fancy place that might well host a telephone cabinet for its wealthy patrons. As I drove, my mind sorted through everything I knew about Charity’s death. When had I decided she was murdered and not simply killed by a sloppy, incompetent abortionist? Had Kevin used the word? Was I mistaken in my thinking? Having not slept in the night, I was too fuzzy in the head to make sense of anything, although the crisp air did much to revive me.

  Finally I reached Le Grand Hotel. I left Peaches in the care of the stable man and made my way carefully on the neatly shoveled path to the wide front entrance. A liveried doorman held the heavy door open for me.

  Inside, the ornate glamor of the place stunned me as much as it had the first time. I was not accustomed to such rich trappings. Gleaming carved wood. Heavy gilt-edged mirrors. Velvety maroon curtains. Even tropical-looking potted plants. From the dining room to my left came the clink of silver on porcelain as diners tucked into eggs, potatoes, ham, biscuits, and other delectable breakfast dishes.

  At the mahogany front desk, polished to within an inch of its life, the same man as last year looked up from his ledger. His formal black suit was the same, and his greased hair hadn’t changed, either, nor had his obsequious manner. He pressed his lips into a little rosebud and blinked like he’d smelled something distasteful. He looked me up and down, from my gray bonnet to my black cloak to my gray dress. It was the garment I wore to deliveries in the winter and was by no means of a fine cloth nor in a fashionable cut.

  I was certainly not the elegantly garbed kind of customer he was used to, but I wasn’t going to let that fact either bother me nor distract me from my mission. “Good morning. I wondered if this hotel has a public telephone cabinet.”

  He looked me up and down. “We do, but it costs fifteen cents per call.”

  “I’m aware that is the going price. My concern is a person who made a threatening telephone call to me yesterday at approximately three thirty in the afternoon. Does thee keep records of who made calls?”

  “We do. Are you some kind of detective?”

  “My name is Rose C
arroll. I am a midwife, but regardless of my occupation, I find receiving anonymous threats quite disturbing. I’d like to find out who did it.”

  “Rose Carroll. I’ve heard of you.” He scowled.

  “I dined here with my friend David Dodge last year.” I kept my voice level and expression calm, waiting for his reaction.

  Light dawned in his eyes, as if he’d just realized he’d been rude to a friend of one of his regular—and well-off—customers. He cleared his throat. “Welcome back, Miss Carroll. Welcome back.” He beamed.

  “Might I inspect the call register, please?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” He reached under the desk and turned an open ledger to face me atop the counter that stood between us. “Here you are.”

  The ledger was open to only the fourth page in the book, and it had a sole entry on it. “Has thee not had the cabinet long?” I asked. Either that or they’d filled a previous book and had started afresh on this one.

  “Indeed we haven’t.”

  I flipped back one page to yesterday’s entries and checked the numbered lines. Twenty-three people had availed themselves of the telephone cabinet. But there were no calls made anywhere near three thirty. Someone had placed a call at two o’clock which lasted three minutes, and the next wasn’t until half past five. I glanced up at the concierge and shook my head. He must have noticed my disappointment.

  “Too bad, Miss Carroll. You could try the Mechanics Hotel down by the rail depot. They have a cabinet, too.”

  “I thank thee very much.”

  “But you might wish to bring a companion. It’s not exactly the kind of place nice young ladies frequent, if you catch my meaning.” He gave me the kind of scolding look I often received from conventional people who didn’t approve of my going around town without an escort.

  “I shall take that under advisement. Good day.”

  thirty-seven

  The environment in the vicinity of the Mechanics Hotel was indeed very different from that on top of Whittier Hill. Drays and hacks and carriages vied with each other on the now slushy road. Men shouted to be heard over the din. A fellow unloaded trunks, valises, and three hat boxes in front of the depot. A train whistle pierced the morning air, and the smell of manure was everywhere. Did I really want to make my way into this busy, rude morass? I could easily drive home, eat breakfast, and rest for the remainder of the morning until it was time to leave for Charity’s Memorial Meeting. If I didn’t nap off my fatigue at being awake all night, I was at risk of falling asleep in Meeting, which was frowned upon, even though it happened to certain members regularly.